Plight of a Pickle Pail

All alone on a late winter day

I’m just a lowly pickle pail done-in
Ain’t never had no steady kissin’ kin
I toil so hard
In your weedy yard
Oh what I’d give for a swig of gin.

Today you see a pickle pail hard workin’
But once I reigned o’er dill and sweet and gherkin
Well-brined, they were
Tastier, juicier, plumper,
Oh please pu-lease stop all that winkin’ and smirkin’

Helping out with the camellia air layers

You take for granted this pickle pail relic
That you got for free from the local deli
You cried in dismay,
As you drove me away
“Open ALL the windows!”
Because you thought I was too smelly.

Oh, what would you do without my travail?
I answer your call without fail
Need a hand
With all that sand?
Just grab that faithful pickle pail.

Waiting their turn. . .

And then there are those weeds in prime
You pull without any reason or rhyme

They muddy my insides
And splatter my outsides
Till I feel like a partner in grime.

I’m not alone, I mustn’t whine
There’s more like me, we wait in line
Ready and willing to haul
No task too large or too small
To make your garden shine

I know I must sound like I’m braggin
But I’m proud of our dudes on that wagon

Still a couple pails left on the wagon in background

Waiting for truckin’
To wherever you’re muckin’
And there ain’t never no lollygaggin’.

Well, my handle’s broke, my bottom’s split to eleven
Seems I’ve been working twenty-four and seven
I did my best
At your request
Now I’m ready to enter pickle-pail heaven.

Author’s Note:  The pickle-pail pictures were taken over the years as record shots of the garden. There was never any intention of actually using them. Mostly we hid the pails behind bushes when we took pictures.

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